


Ah, mais Tu Te Répètes

by GloriousGoblinQueen



Category: Papillon (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29279790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriousGoblinQueen/pseuds/GloriousGoblinQueen
Summary: Four times in canon (and one time after) that Papillon and Dega are each focused on the other.
Relationships: Henri "Papillon" Charriere/Louis Dega, Henri “Papillon” Charriere & Louis Dega
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Ah, mais Tu Te Répètes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mary_the_gardener](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mary_the_gardener/gifts).



> Celier and Maturette do appear, but their roles in the story are very small.

Hours later, and he still can’t stop thinking about that blond. What was his name,“Papillon”, or something ridiculous like that? He scoffs quietly, not wanting to disturb any of the other prisoners nearby. The nerve of that guy, he thinks, offering himself up like some bodyguard. As if he’s not as much of a threat as anyone else here. As if he can do a better job than the _warden_ , of all people, at keeping the peace.

Dega has been around men like _Papillon_ before. He’s even worked with them on a few occasions. He knows the type well: they think they’re ringleaders, and the whole world is their circus. They make claim after outrageous claim, promise after broken promise, steadily roping you in until you’re hooked. Funny enough, it hadn’t been one of those types that landed him here (that dishonor went to a mousy little troublemaker who couldn’t keep his mouth shut). His lawyer, on the other hand, was certainly shaping up to be one of them. He’d left Dega dissatisfied and suspicious after assuring him there would be little more than a short trial and failing to deliver.

Yes, he knows Papillon’s kind well, and he’s not about to let himself be taken. Not without considering his options, at least. Dega’s gaze roams across the ship, idly considering each man it lands upon. There’s one man, a rather tall one near the back, that he thinks might make a good bodyguard. He probably wouldn’t even ask for much payment. Then again, he does look a bit dull about the eyes. Dega doesn’t mind working with those of “lesser intellect”, but a prison full of violent men is the last place he wants to be leading someone around, loyalty be damned.

He considers a few more choices, and each of them are lacking in some critical way. One of them is a rather large-bellied man he thinks he saw earlier at the medical inspection. Another’s a little taller than Dega himself, but has the look of a rabid dog. The only thing worse than dealing with dullards in a place like this is dealing with the unhinged, and Dega quickly gives him a pass. Yet another man is standing over the one he’s chained to, berating him for something. Dega’s disappointment is palpable.

He doesn’t have time to linger on it, however, because the man chained to him has just been gutted like a pig.

The body is eventually dragged away perfunctorily by a handful of guards. The murderer, a beast of a man, was going after the money the poor bastard had in him. Dega doesn’t know how long he spends tossing and turning before eventually succumbing to exhaustion, the image of the man’s intestines hanging halfway out of his body. He doesn’t want to think about it, but he knows he’s going to be next.

The next night, he’s barely drifted off before there’s a commotion.

Once he gets his bearings, he recognizes the murderer from the other night. The large man is struggling valiantly to get someone off of him. When Dega realizes who that someone is, it hits him like a slow punch to the gut. He blinks and checks to make sure his glasses are on right. He doesn’t know what to think, seeing Papillon wrestle someone so much bigger than he is. Dega knows the man was after him for his stash, and he can conclude Papillon’s the only reason his belly isn’t slit open and bleeding out now. What eludes him is the “why”.

Still holding onto the man’s back like he’s restraining a bull, Papillon gestures to something just beyond the bars. Dega looks out and sees it’s a shiv, probably the same one that murderer used last night. In the poor lighting of the ship, it’s such a homely little thing. If the guards catch sight of it, it’ll land them all in deep trouble. Dega stretches his arm through the bars and scrambles for it, snatching it up and hiding it on his person just as the guards come into view.

His mind is still a flurry of confusion as the guards pat everyone down, searching for a weapon. He looks up and Papillon is staring straight at him, expression unreadable. Their eyes only meet briefly before Papillon looks away, his attention now on the guard interrogating him.

Dega still isn’t about to trust him, but he’s slightly less ready to completely disregard him now.

* * *

The day is a hot one, but isn’t it always? They’ve finally finished their work for the day, and Dega wastes no time taking his meager sketching supplies to his usual spot. Papillon is already there, smoking a cigarette and staring at nothing.

It doesn’t take long for Papillon to strike up a conversation with him. Really, it’s more Papi talking about whatever comes across his mind (when he’s not making vague plans of escaping) and Dega quietly listening. He doesn’t mind; it lets him focus on his drawing, and Papi doesn’t expect him to talk much at this point anyway.

When he’s run out of things he wants to draw from memory, Dega goes searching for inspiration from his surroundings. There’s not much; a sleeping prisoner here, a squat, nondescript building there. Everything seems to be covered in a thin layer of grime and despair. Dega moves to find a distraction before he can linger on his own dwindling hope.

Out the corner of his eye, he notices Papillon shrug off his shirt, leaving him in the one he wears under it. No doubt the heat’s finally gotten to him. He turns his head to say as much, but gets distracted by one of Papillon’s tattoos. Specifically, it’s the butterfly at the base of his throat.

It’s a bit crude, and not just by his high artistic standards. The first time he’d seen it, he’d wondered if one of their fellow inmates had done it. Still, he’s wanted to capture it in pencil for a while now. Truthfully, he’s been wanting to sketch Papillon, but he worries about the questions that would bring up. Questions he doesn’t necessarily want or know how to answer. Here, in this desolate landscape of men, he can admit to himself that Papillon is his “type”, but anything beyond that might be a death sentence sans guillotine. 

“See something you like?”

Dega realizes that Papillon’s steady stream of talk has gone silent. He looks up right into Papillon’s piercing blue gaze. He feels himself become trapped in that gaze like prey, and for a moment, he can’t breathe. Some safer time and place, he might note the specific shade of blue Papillon’s eyes are, or the charming set of his jawline, or even the way the sun reflected off his closely cropped hair, making it seem to glow with a heavenly light. He can’t afford such luxury here. Instead, he gauges Papillon’s expression as quickly as possible; the man doesn’t _look_ peeved, but he’s known people who would laugh along with you before laying you out dead. He fiddles with his pencil and paper before quietly turning back around.

Dega is about a minute or so into another doodle before Papillon speaks up. “It’s probably not as nice as some of what you’ve seen, but I paid good money for it.” He take a pull from his cigarette, then lets it go slowly. Then, he turns to face Dega. “Which is to say, it didn’t cost me a dime.” He’s smiling when he says it. “The perks of being good friends with a tattooist, yeah?”

Dega laughs, though it comes out more like a nasally huff. The relief is almost overwhelming, and he can feel his agitated nerves calm. He’s unsure whether Papillon is truly oblivious or if the man is just giving him an out, but he’ll take what he can get. Papi’s a valuable ally, and he’d like to stay on his good side.

* * *

Papillon’s heart is in his throat. Maturette is almost sedate after his (more than understandable) outburst earlier. Celier, on the other hand, is chomping at the bit. The line of sight from their hiding spot isn’t the best, but Papillon can still see Dega in the crowd. Dega moves among the guests, serving them and chatting them up like he does this for a living. He wants to be agitated, feeling like Dega’s taking his time to spite them, but he knows patience is the key to pulling this off. It wouldn’t do to have Dega rush through something or get distracted and call unwanted attention to himself.

Papillon can admit to himself now there were dark moments when he questioned if this day would ever come. It would be a shame if they got caught now, so close to freedom.

When the rain comes out of nowhere and the power outside shuts off, throwing everything into darkness, Papillon clamps down on his panic before it can fully form. When he spots Dega’s back, barely lit by the moonlight, retreat into shadows in the distance, he keeps his cool. He can’t completely stop the confusion because where the hell _is_ Dega going, but anything resembling betrayal gets hastily discarded. Feeling betrayed will lead him to thinking the plan won’t work, and that’s the only hope he has left in this place.

It’s not until Celier tells him to “forget about Dega” that he starts to worry.

He expects it; Celier can’t stand Dega and Papillon is sure the feeling is mutual. Still, hearing him dismiss Dega like that out loud makes something dark and uncomfortably raw rise in the back of his throat. Papi tells himself it’s because Dega is necessary to the success of their plan. He has the money they need, he’s their ticket out of here, can’t Celier see that?

Evidently, Celier cannot. So Papi offers him and out, tells him he can leave if he wants to. Against his hopes, Celier calls his bluff and goes for the gate they’re behind, and that old, sick panic starts to rise again. Even Maturette is ready to leave, and all Papi can imagine is them getting caught, getting pressed for information and leading the warden right back to him and Dega. There is no way they won’t hang for this. Not even Dega’s deep pockets can save them.

The loud bang against the gate has them all jumping out of their skin. For a moment Papi thinks they’ve been discovered, but it’s just Dega. Dega, rain-soaked and out of breath from running across the yard in the middle of a blackout. Papi is absurdly grateful for the gate between them. Were it not there, he might be tempted to embrace him.

Dega greets them by way of shaking a ring of keys through the bars. “I stole the keys to get us up to the central walkway. We can take that to the guard tower,” he says. While he fumbles the gate open, Papi carefully focuses on the business at hand. They’re getting out of this place. They’re getting out, and they’re going to get a boat, and they’re going to sail as far away from this hellhole as possible. Papillon has no idea what Celier or Maturette plan on doing once all of this is over, and he doesn’t particularly care. He’s not even entirely sure what he plans to do with himself (the idea of a quiet house in the countryside, any countryside, was both too beautiful to cling to and the only thing that gave him hope in the first place). He doesn’t give himself the space to wonder about what Dega’s plans might be, because that will lead down the path of realizing they’re close to parting ways. It’s far too late to pretend he doesn’t see Dega as more than a means to an end, but he can live with that. To admit to anything more at this stage would be both dangerous and devastating.

* * *

This is it, he thinks. It’s all lead up to this. All the pain and struggling, the fear and the heartbreak, the sickness, death, all the setbacks and triumphs. All of that has lead Papillon to this precipice he’s figuratively and literally about to jump off.

He straightens up, having tied off the last bit of his pack. Truth be told, he’s unsure of how both he and Louis are going to get down to the water below. In fact, they haven’t spoken much about the specific mechanics of getting Louis off the island without either of them breaking something or being swept under by the current. He’d swept it under the rug, thinking they’d have time to discuss it later. Now, with Louis’ poorly healed ankle, he wishes he’d insisted more strongly on a concrete plan.

Now that it’s crossed his mind, it won’t leave. He turns scenario after scenario over in his head, looking for the one least likely to get them killed. He’s focused so intently, he almost doesn’t catch it when Louis speaks to him.

“I need to stay.”

It’s quiet, but the words are spoken clearly. Still, Papi thinks he couldn’t have possibly heard what he thinks he did. So, he turns around and asks what Louis is going on about, confusion written all over his face.

Louis repeats himself. “I need to stay. For the same reason you have to go.” His voice is still quiet, but more confident, and he looks Papillon in the eye when he says it.

So he _did_ hear correctly. Papi makes a dismissive sound, then laughs the way one does when faced with something that isn’t funny at all. Without needing to give it much thought, he knows what this is about. It’s infuriating, and so incredibly Louis for him to develop a conscience right when they’re at the finish line. Louis stands there staring at him warily, no doubt wondering if Papillon’s about to lash out at him. Papi doesn’t lash out, but there are about a million things he wants to say (yell, rather) that he knows would make the situation worse. Instead, he clamps his mouth shut and stays quiet until the worst of the anger passes.

Then, he asks a question. “Why did you stab Celier?”

Louis jerks at the word “stab” but answers, “he was going to kill you, Papi, I’m sure of it.”

“In other words, you were defending me.” He takes a small bit of pleasure in the way Louis looks away, like he’s embarrassed to have his motivations laid bare like that.

“I didn’t know what else to do.”

Papi nods along, as if he’s considering Louis’ words. “And you believe you deserve to stay behind on this terrible island for the _unforgivable_ crime of saving my life. Am I understanding correctly?”

Louis’ shoulders slump and he sighs, as if _Papillon_ is the one being unreasonable. Maybe he’s not wrong. “That isn’t the point! The reasons don’t change the fact that I’m a murderer--”

“A murderer is someone who would cut a man open just to get at his money! Somebody who thinks running away is a crime deserving of the guillotine.” Papillon knows he’s got Louis’ full attention, but he gets close anyway hoping to drive home his point. “I’ve seen plenty of murderers at the penal colony, not all of them prisoners, and I’ve seen them walk the streets of Paris looking like anybody else. You were just doing what you had to do.” He wants to say more, but he’s run out of steam. Besides, he doesn’t want to belabor the point. Instead, he returns to checking the security of the ties on his pack, even though he knows they’re done up properly.

Papillon messes around while the silence stretches between them. It pains him to wait for Louis to come to a decision, but this is a delicate situation.

“Papi, you don’t understand, I belong here.”

Cold dread begins to settle in Papi’s stomach. Even after acknowledging Louis was more than just his companion, his friend, he knew there was still a good chance they wouldn’t see each other after this. The thought had bothered him at first, but he’d tried to make himself okay with it. He dreamed and daydreamed about a peaceful life under the radar, earning an honest living, all by himself, or at least with someone other than Louis by his side. The disappointment and dissatisfaction only grew stronger each time, and he knew that somewhere in his heart, he’d decided Louis had to come with him.

And now the man refuses to leave.

Papi lets out a long breath, and sits down heavily on his pack. He doesn’t want to do this, it’s a stupid idea and goes against everything he’s fought for to get here. But the desperation clawing at his throat and his innate stubbornness won’t let him be “smart” about this. “Alright, then. I’m not leaving, either.” He says it like he’s been deliberating over it for hours and has reluctantly come to the only possible decision about the matter. That’s probably why Louis reacts the way he does.

“Are you fucking mad?” he asks loudly, hobbling over on his good leg. He unapologetically gets in Papi’s personal space, and what has to be one of the worst arguments they’ve ever had ensues. Papi doesn’t think they fought this hard when they were still strangers.

It ends shortly, however, which Papi is thankful for. It turns out, Louis wasn’t entirely committed to his act of martyrdom, and hadn’t been counting on Papi to call his bluff. Still, there is one matter they have to deal with.

“And how are you going to get me down?” Louis asks. “I’m not exactly in the best of shape. And even if we both get down safely, that’s two people you’ll have to worry about instead of one.”

Papi knows he’s being absurd about this, knows Louis is right. But the whole situation is absurd, and he’s not about to start being logical now, not when he’s so close to getting what he wants. He stands up quickly and helps Louis to his feet, then starts maneuvering the pack to the edge of the cliff.

“You’ll have to ride on my back, then. Make sure you hang on as tight as you can, arms and legs.”

Predictably, Louis protests that. He brings up the fact that it’s dangerous, that the extra weight on Papi’s back will throw him off balance, that it’s harder to swim with someone clinging to you like an octopus. All the while, both of them are hauling the pack closer and closer to the edge of the cliff. Louis doesn’t realize what’s happening until he watches it get heaved over the edge and into the water.

They watch it bob in the water for a few moments.

“Well,” Papi says. “A lot of work went into packing all that shit. And you know I’m not going anywhere without you. You don’t want to all our hard work to go to waste, do you?”

The added weight on Papillon’s back isn’t ideal in the least. Louis took him seriously and has him in a vice grip. It’s uncomfortable, and his balance does feel off, but he’s going to have to get over it. He made this bed for himself, now he’s got to hop into it and hope neither of them drowns.

The view of the ocean from above is vertigo-inducing. A part of Papillon wants to stand there for a moment to savor it, or contemplate his future, or something sentimental like that. It would be a good idea, he thinks, to go over once again just how he’s going to land in the water and avoid the rocks, among all the other things that could end them both. That however, will only lead to the realization of how suicidal this is, so he picks a clear looking spot and jumps.

* * *

The sun is streaming in through their bedroom window. No one’s checked the clock yet, but Dega figures it’s still early. The day is going to be a hot one, but it usually is in this part of the world, in this part of the year.

Dega stretches languidly like a cat, and his eyes immediately land on Papillon’s back. Papillon insists on being an early riser, and he’s already sitting up about to start his day. Dega smiles to himself. It’s been some time since the two of them settled here, away from the prying eyes of the law, but he won’t let himself take the sight of Papillon next to him each morning for granted. He reaches out, ready to cause a little mischief, when he notices something dark near the lower part of Papi’s back. Putting on his glasses would be a good idea, but they’re behind him on his nightstand. He thinks he’s close enough to make it out anyway. He scoots over, leaning in until the blurry image resolves itself into something legible.

Well. _Somebody_ has a new tattoo.

A line of carnation blooms, uncolored and outlined in black, travels from just over the crest of his right hip to the bottom of his spine, right by his tailbone. Dega can’t quite pick out all the details, but he knows they must be beautiful. He reaches out and brushes his fingertips against the artwork, making Papillon flinch.

“Didn’t know you were awake,” Papi says.

“Didn’t know you’d gotten another one.” Dega softly brushes his knuckles across it to emphasize his point.

Papillon goes for a shower and Dega waits for him in bed. When Papi returns, Dega’s ready for him, pulling him down and settling on top of him.

He presses his nose feather-light against the stubble Papillon has yet to do anything about, then gets close to his ear. “Get my glasses for me, please?” He watches the play of light across Papillon’s shifting muscles as he reaches for the drawer where Dega keeps his glasses. Dega takes them from him and puts them on, then pokes and prods at Papillon until he rolls over onto his front.

Dega traces the fine lines of each flower, brushing his fingertips against the petals as if he could feel their silken softness in Papi’s skin.

“I got it about a month ago,” Papillon says into the quiet of their room. His head is pillowed on one arm, and he stares out the window, watching the outdoors. “Was gonna surprise you. See what you thought of it.”

Dega lays his face against Papillon’s side near his ribs. He can still smell their soap on his skin. “Most men would buy their lovers a painting, you know.” His eyes drift closed at the deep sound of Papillon’s laughter, the way it vibrates from his chest.

“Well, I’m not most men, am I?”

“Hardly.”

They both go still for a bit, basking in each other’s presence. It’s a Friday, but Papi’s work means he has today and tomorrow off. Dega’s work as a painter (a legitimate one) means his schedule is whatever his latest client demands of him. Today, however, he is free. Several minutes pass before Papillon speaks.

“Even with our money in good shape, it wouldn’t be very smart to buy you art every time I was in the mood. At least, not the good stuff.”

Papillon’s never been insecure about what he brought to the table, thank goodness, and he’s not starting now. Still, Dega feels the need to reassure him.

“Good thing I don’t need fancy paintings to be happy, then,” he says. Then, because he can’t leave well enough alone, “You’re the only art I need.” He groans almost as soon as he finishes saying it, thinking it’s too sentimental even for him. To Papillon’s credit, he says nothing, doesn’t even laugh. He does reach back and awkwardly pats his hand somewhere on Dega’s flank in what’s probably supposed to be a comforting gesture. Dega playfully swats his hand away and places a kiss on Papillon’s spine, right over one of the carnations, before getting up.


End file.
